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MARIE 

A    SEASIDE     EPISODE 


J.   P.   RITTER,   JR. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY   COULTAUS 


CHICAGO,  NEW  YOKK,  AND  SAN  FRANCISCO 

BELFORD,    CLARKE    &    COMPANY 

1888 


COPYRIGHT,  1888, 

BY 
BELFORD,    CLARKE   &   CO. 


MARIE: 

A    SEASIDE    EPISODE. 


i. 

MY  tale  has  naught  to  do  with  vulgar  men, 
Nor  every-day  affairs,  nor  common  topics, 

But  with  the  doings  of  the  "  upper  ten," 
A  pregnant  theme  for  half-a-dozen  epics ; 

Of  money,  manners,  fashions,  social  duties, 

Of  gentlemen  of  leisure,  and  of  beauties. 

II. 
My  story  opens  with  our  heroine 

And  mother  at  a  famous  seaside  place ; 
Two  large  hotels — along  the  beach  a  line 

Of  red-tiled  cottages — in  front  a  space 
Of  glistening  sand,  up  which  the  ocean  rolled, 
And  where  bright  groups  of  summer  idlers  strolled. 


MARIE: 

III. 

It  was  a  lovely  spot.     The  broad  Atlantic 
Stretched  eastward  to  the  sky,  and  far  away 

The  slanting  sails  of  stately  ships  romantic 
Could  be  descried  upon  a  sunny  day ; 

While  landward  breezes  to  the  senses  bore 

Faint  sounds  and  odors  from  some  fancied  shore. 


IV. 

But  what  enhanced  its  loveliness  beyond 
All  natural  beauty  of  the  sea  and  sky 

Was  that  the  world  of  fashion  here  had  found 
A  summer  theatre  for  its  gayety, 

Seeking  relief  from  winter's  dissipations 

In  bathing,  sailing,  open-air  flirtations. 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE.  II 

V. 

One  morning,  some  days  after  they  arrived, 

Marie  was  walking  on  the  beach  alone. 
I  cannot  tell  you  how  she  had  contrived 

To  stroll  abroad  without  a  chaperone. 
If  she  had  acted  properly,  no  doubt 
She  would  not  in  this  way  have  wandered  out. 


VI. 

But  thus  she  onward  walked  in  revery 
Among  the  children  playing  on  the  sand  ; 

Some  daring  ones,  bare-legged  to  the  knee, 
Pursued  and  fled  the  billows  on  the  strand, 

Watched  by  the  eyes  of  pretty  nurses ;  others 

Delved  with  small  spades  beside  their  chatting  mothers. 


VII. 

The  day  was  fine — the  sea  and  sky  deep  blue — 
The  beach  a  dazzling  white,  and  dotted  o'er 

With  parasols  of  many  a  brilliant  hue. 

Gay  groups  were  everywhere  along  the  shore, 

Some  sitting  on  the  sand,  and  others  walking, 

But  all  engaged  in  flirting,  laughing,  talking. 


12  MARIE: 


VIII. 

Marie  this  bright  scene  gazed  upon  demurely, 
Unconscious  of  the  glances  she  attracted, 

A  circumstance  most  strange  in  her  sex  surely. 
She  must  have  been  surprisingly  abstracted, 

For  thus  she  wandered  till  her  footsteps  brought  her 

So  near  the  waves,  her  shoes  were  under  water. 


IX. 

Then  back  she  started  with  a  little  cry, 

And  stamped  her  ^oot  in  anger  at  the  ocean, 

For  having  come  so  unexpectedly 

Across  her  path — an  infantile  emotion, 

And  one  she  should  have  long  ago  outgrown, 

For  nearly  nineteen  summers  had  she  known. 


X. 

A  peal  of  laughter  greeted  this  wild  act, 

And  turning  quickly  round  she  saw  a  youth, 

Who,  seemingly  devoid  of  that  fine  tact 

Which  marks  good  breeding,  in  a  most  uncouth 

And  merry  manner  stood  regarding  her. 

She  gave  his  glance  back  with  a  scornful  sneer, 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE.  1 5 

XL 

At  which  the  light  of  humor  left  his  face. 

He  doffed  his  hat,  and  begged  to  be  excused, 
And  all  with  such  a  mock-heroic  grace, 

Marie  herself  seemed  instantly  amused. 
Her  scornful  lip  and  frown-contracted  brow 
Were  melted  into  smiles,  she  knew  not  how. 


XII. 

She  saw  he  was  a  gentleman.     His  dress, 
His  graceful  mien,  his  affable  apology 

For  laughing  at  a  lady  in  distress, 
All  answered  her  exacting  etymology 

Of  this  fine  word  ;  and  then  he  had  large  eyes, 

As  deep  and  blue  as  were  the  summer  skies — 

XIII. 

Eyes  that  were  bent  on  her  in  admiration, 
Which  put  her  in  a  pliant,  pleasing  mood. 

Perhaps  it  was  an  impulse  to  flirtation, 
Or  likelier  still  a  woman's  gratitude 

For  each  soft  glance  of  tribute  to  her  beauty, 

Which  made  her  then  forget  her  maiden  duty. 


i6 


MAKIE: 


XIV. 

His  gaze  she  now  returned  with  beaming  eyes, 
And  curtly  said,  "  You  should  not  laugh  at  me !' 

What  followed  this  you  never  would  surmise — 
A  morning  walk  beside  the  sunny  sea, 

A  talk  embracing  all  things,  from  the  weather 

To  plans  to  pass  some  future  hours  together. 


XV. 

Marie  was  conscious  that  it  was  not  right 

To  speak  unintroduced  with  this  young  man, 

But  then  her  wayward  nature  took  delight 
In  outrt  acts  ;  being  no  puritan, 

She'd  hover  on  the  bound'ry  line  of  evil, 

And  carry  on  a  skirmish  with  the  Devil. 


4    SEASIDE   EPISODE.  I? 

XVI. 

A  child  of  nature,  whose  impulsive  soul 
Was  swayed  by  every  passion  as  it  passed. 

No  thought  had  ever  any  long  control 
Over  her  fancy,  going  just  as  fast 

As  its  precursor.     Through  her  airy  brain, 

Perceptions  rarely  followed  in  a  train. 


XVII. 

A  butterfly  would  call  her  thoughts  away 

From  things  most  solemn.     If  she  knelt  in  prayer 

At  church,  and  wantonly  there  chanced  to  stray 
A  foolish  moth  into  a  neighbor's  hair, 

A  roguish  laughter  lighted  up  her  face  ; 

She  quite  forgot  how  holy  was  the  place. 

XVIII. 

Her  beauty  was  a  kind  that  artists  try 

To  reproduce  in  vain.     The  swift  expression 

Of  every  thought  was  written  vividly 

Upon  her  countenance  ;  a  quick  succession 

Of  subtle  meanings  played  within  her  eyes, 

Like  summer  lightnings  in  the  twilight  skies. 


1 8  MARIE: 

XIX. 

Her  hair  was  dark  and  most  luxuriant, 

Her  forehead  low ;  and  as  for  her  complexion, 

A  peach,  a  rose,  a  lily  could  not  grant 
A  just  comparison.     The  soft  reflection 

Of  color  from  a  sunset  cloud  might  do — 

A  delicate,  ethereal,  roseate  hue. 


XX. 

Imagine  now  the  feelings  she  excited 

Within  the  bosom  of  her  new-found  friend. 

With  all  her  ways  and  words  he  seemed  delighted  ; 
And  when  their  interview  had  reached  an  end, 

Beside  the  ocean  hour  by  hour  he  wandered. 

And  o'er  her  graceful  acts  and  speeches  pondered. 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE. 

XXL 

Here  let  me  pause  to  give  some  sound  advice : 
Sound,  I  repeat,  for  it  proceeds  from  one 

Who,  having  been  himself  a  sacrifice 

To  Beauty's  candle,  knows  'tis  wise  to  shun 

Love's  retrospective  wheeling  round  a  flame : 

The  circle  narrower  grows,  and  then,  the  same 


2O  MARIE: 

XXTI. 

Old  story  of  burned  wings  and  quivering  heart! 

You  know  the  tragedy,  so  be  advised — 
Let  every  thought  of  woman's  grace  depart, 

Lest  ills  might  happen  you  had  ne'er  surmised  ; 
Or,  if  you  must  persist  in  retrospections, 
Dwell  only  on  your  idol's  imperfections. 


XXIII. 

Think  of  her  madcap  humors  and  caprices; 

Ponder  each  trifling  blemish  in  her  beauty; 
Aye,  pick  her — body,  mind,  and  soul — to  pieces, 

As  though  fault-finding  were  a  lover's  duty; 
Laugh,  and  declare  that  love  is  a  delusion  : 
Then  tell  me  truly  what  is  your  conclusion. 


XXIV. 

Her  temper  you  allow  is  quick — but  then, 
That  rising  color  has  a  witching  charm  in  it ; 

And  though  she  sometimes  smiles  on  other  men, 
Perhaps,  dear  artless  child  !  she  sees  no  harm  in  it ; 

And  oh !  her  eyes,  so  soft,  so  deep,  so  loving, 

How  can  she  keep  them  from  coquettish  roving? 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE. 

XXV. 
You  know  of  others  with  more  perfect  faces  ; 

You  know  of  some  with  natures  far  more  true ; 
But  she  has  such  intoxicating  graces 

That  other  women  are  as  naught  to  you. 
Aye,  true  it  is,  although  most  melancholy, 
You  love  her  very  blemishes  and  folly. 

XXVI. 

Such  meetings  as  the  one  described  above 
Occurred  between  these  two  quite  frequently, 

Until  from  friendship  sprang  an  ardent  love, 
So  full  of  childlike  faith  and  purity, 

They  kept  in  silent  reverence  apart, 

With  wistful  glances  speaking  heart  to  heart. 


21 


22  MARIE: 

XXVII. 

Her  lover's  name  was  Percy,  and  in  years 

He  might  have  been  some  twenty-one  or  two. 

Endowed  with  every  grace  that  most  endears 
To  us  young  natures,  he  was  manly,  true, 

Full  of  imagination,  fond  of  reading, 

Handsome  of  person,  elegant  in  breeding. 

XXVIII. 

But  he  was  poor.     Oh,  that  condemning  word ! 

How  chill  it  sounds,  how  void  of  all  romance! 
I  hold,  despite  the  many  tales  absurd 

Which  poets  weave  their  readers  to  entrance, 
That  no  poor  man  has  any  right  to  love. 
This  in  the  sequel  I  shall  fully  prove. 


A    SEASIDE   EPISODE. 


I. 

The  lights  were  bright,  the  ball-room  thronged  with  dancers; 

A  dreamy  waltz  by  Waldteufel  kept  time, 
While  Beauty  flitted  by  with  sparkling  glances, 

Her  tiny  feet  beating  an  airy  rhyme 
That  would  have  filled  a  poet's  soul  with  pleasure, 
So  light  it  was  and  graceful  in  its  measure. 


II. 

Lights,  music,  flowers,  lovely  laughing  faces ; 

Dresses  of  rainbow  hues  and  latest  style — 
It  seemed  a  fairy  garden  of  the  Graces, 

Which  rosy  Pleasure  lighted  with  her  smile. 
The  very  wrinkles  on  the  brow  of  Care 
Had  melted  all  away  while  gazing  there. 


-4 


MARIE: 


III. 

There  was  Miss  Millie,  smiling  and  demure, 
Upon  whose  countenance  all  virtues  showed  ; 

And  there  Miss  Lily,  classical  and  pure, 
In  whom  no  kind  of  passion  ever  glowed. 

Creatures  without  a  grain  of  earthly  leaven, 

Like  spotless  angels  that  have  strayed  from  heaven. 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE. 

IV. 

There  was  Miss  Rosalie,  with  laughing  eye, 

And  there  Miss  Laura,  with  her  languid  glances 

There  was  that  dear  coquette,  Miss  Margery, 
Whose  very  scorn  the  coldest  heart  entrances; 

And  there  was  wealthy  Miss  Amelia  Tooks, 

Whose  style  made  up  for  all  she  lacked  in  looks. 


20  MARIE: 

V. 

There  were  your  anxious  mothers,  fondly  gazing 
After  their  daughters  with  maternal  pride ; 

And  groups  of  girls  each  other's  dresses  praising, 
Or  glancing  at  some  rival,  to  deride 

The  wretched  taste  she  showed,  and  wond'ring  why 

The  men  should  dance  with  her  and  pass  them  by. 

VI. 

There  were  the  single  gentlemen,  for  whom 
Miss  Millie,  Lily,  Rosalie,  and  Laura, 

And  every  other  maiden  in  the  room 

Displayed  her  charms  and  innocently  wore  a 

Dejected  look  or  an  expression  bland, 

As  suited  best  her  own  designings  ;  and 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE. 


VII. 

There  was  Marie,  with  features  all  aglow 
With  pleasure,  and  her  darkly-beaming  eyes 

Changing  their  hues,  as  the  exultant  flow 
Of  her  young  blood  filled  her  with  ecstasies; 

Her  ways  so  volatile,  her  looks  so  bright, 

Each  gazer  seemed  to  feel  the  same  delight. 


VIII. 

And  now  where'er  she  went,  a  hundred  eyes 
Hung  on  her  movements,  and  she  knew  it  too, 

Else  why  should  such  a  gleam  of  triumph  rise 
Whene'er  she  passed  that  jealous  female  crew, 

Flaunting  their  fans  with  envy  in  a  corner, 

And  who  by  feigned  indifference  seemed  to  scorn  her. 


28  MA1UE: 

IX. 

Miss  Lily  had  a  grievance  all  her  own ; 

She  threw  it  off  quite  well  with  flighty  laughter. 
A  gentleman  who  never  had  been  known 

To  leave  her  side  before,  was  running  after 
Our  little  heroine,  all  unashamed  ; 
Yet  Marie  certainly  could  not  be  blamed. 


"  Men  are  all  fools ! "  said  the  demure  Miss  Millie ; 

"  A  modest  woman  has  no  chance  whatever 
Against  a  loud,  ill-bred,  affected,  silly, 

Conceited,  heartless  flirt.     If  one  is  clever 
And  dignified,  although  she  may  be  fair, 
She  '  wastes  her  sweetness  on  the  desert  air.' " 


XI. 

Said  Miss  Amelia  Tooks,  "  What  wretched  taste 
She  shows  in  wearing  such  a  dowdy  gown  ! 

Observe  the  pattern  of  that  antique  waist. 
It  never  could  have  been  made  up  in  town." 

But  here  a  man  inviting  her  to  waltz, 

She  had  no  chance  to  find  out  other  faults. 


A    SEASIDE   EPISODE. 


29 


XII. 

Marie  meantime  had  danced  and  laughed  and  chattered, 
Now  with  one  gallant  coxcomb,  now  another. 

Each  man  within  the  room  her  glances  flattered  ; 
Nor  could  she  help  it.     She  could  no  more  smother 

Her  loving  looks  than  could  the  sun  his  beams; 

They  poured  from  her  in  soft  magnetic  streams. 


;£••»  -^x\  \',*«J>  >" 


XIII. 

But  now  her  gaze  is  fixed  upon  the  door, 

Where  stands  a  slender  youth  whose  visage  wears 

Grave  trouble,  though  his  years  seem  but  a  score. 
Well  she  divines  the  cause  of  all  his  cares ; 

And  the  deep,  tender  light  that  fills  her  eyes 

Tells  of  her  joy  in  his  sweet  miseries. 


3O  MARIE: 

XIV. 

He  sees  her  also,  and  awaits  a  chance 

To  thread  the  crowded  ball-room  to  her  side, 

Which  having  reached,  he  urges  her  to  dance. 

She  answers,  while  drooped  lids  her  dark  eyes  hide, 

"  I  am  engaged  for  this  waltz  and  the  next." 

He  bites  his  nether  lip  and  looks  quite  vexed. 


XV. 

"  Wait  but  a  moment  and  I'll  dance  with  you," 
She  quickly  says ;  "  I'll  say  he  came  too  late." 

But  as  she  sees  her  partner  pressing  through 
The  throng  to  reach  her,  she  must  intimate 

Her  readiness  at  once,  so  off  they  go 

In  rhythmic  movement  to  the  music's  flow. 


XVI. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Lily's  friend,  for  he  it  was, 
Stood  by  in  anger  that  the  bird  had  flown, 

And  she  returning  in  a  circle,  as 

She  passed  him,  seeing  on  his  brow  a  frown, 

And  wishing  her  rude  act  to  mitigate, 

Shook  her  bright  head  and  laughing  said,  "  Too  late !" 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE. 


33 


XVII. 

Miss  Lily's  mother,  who  was  standing  near, 
Now  called  her  daughter  to  her  side  and  said, 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  your  friend,  my  dear  ? 
It  really  seems  he  must  have  lost  his  head 

Over  that  silly  girl.     Give  him  a  chance 

To  ask  your  hand  for  the  ensuing  dance." 


XVIII. 

'  Not  I,"  said  Lily  ;  "  let  him  come  to  me  !" 
At  this  her  mother  seemed  surprised  and  troubled  ; 

Her  mind  was  filled  with  grave  anxiety, 

Which  in  a  short  time  afterward  was  doubled, 

When  Lily's  lover  and  Marie  swept  by, 

Laughing  and  talking  most  vivaciously. 


34  MARIE: 

XIX. 

Oh,  mothers,  mothers,  weighty  cares  are  yours! 

Greatest  of  all  a  marriageable  daughter ; 
For,  having  watched  her  growth  for  many  years, 

And  to  the  fount  of  matrimony  brought  her, 
You  find,  perchance,  there's  many  an  awkward  slip 
Betwixt  the  cup  of  marriage  and  the  lip. 

XX. 

Your  daughter  may  be  wayward,  and  prefer 
To  follow  her  own  heart  to  your  fond  wishes ; 

Or,  what  is  worse,  a  quarrel  may  occur 

To  cut  an  opening  in  your  careful  meshes; 

Or  else  some  mercenary  girl  may  plan 

To  come  between  your  daughter  and  the  man. 

XXI. 

Some  artful,  scheming  little  minx,  who  has 
No  loving  mother  to  direct  her  path 

T'wards  Hymen's  temple,  but  must  use,  alas  ! 
Her  maiden  wits — one  who  excites  your  wrath 

By  the  outrageous  means  she  takes  to  rope  in 

The  youthful  millionaire  you  had  such  hope  in. 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE.  35 

XXII. 

Always  anticipate  the  unexpected. 

This  is  a  maxim,  not  of  my  own  making, 
But  one,  however,  not  to  be  neglected 

Whene'er  you  undertake  an  undertaking. 
The  unexpected  happens  every  day, 
But  almost  always  in  an  evil  way. 


XXIII. 

An  only  son,  you've  sent  with  pains  through  college, 
May  take  to  drink,  sir,  and  destroy  your  hope ; 


A  daughter  courted,  ma'am,  without  your  knowledge 

May  with  some  worthless  gentleman  elope  ; 
Or  an  expected  son-in-law  may  fail  you, 
And  every  unexpected  ill  assail  you. 


j6  MARIE: 

XXIV. 

"  An  unexpected  pleasure,"  some  have  said  ; 

"  An  unexpected  pain,"  have  many  others ; 
Precocity  may  end  a  stupid  head  ; 

The  dunce  succeed  much  better  than  his  brothers ; 
Our  expectations  show  conclusively 
We  none  can  boast  of  a  prophetic  eye. 

XXV. 

Now  all  Miss  Lily's  relatives  expected 

To  see  her  soon  engaged  to  her  rich  friend ; 


Some  were  surprised,  and  others  quite  dejected, 

To  find  the  presence  of  Marie  might  tend 
To  blast  the  dear  girl's  hope  ;  for  hope  lies  wilted 
Forever  on  a  maiden's  breast,  when  jilted. 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE. 

XXVI. 

It  injures  grievously  a  female's  pride 
To  see  a  lover  winging  through  the  air 

Away  from  her,  and  hear  her  friends  deride 
The  fruitless  efforts  she  has  made  to  snare 

The  noble  bird ;  and  her  revenge  is  sure 

To  follow  for  the  wound  she  cannot  cure. 


XXVII. 

For  wounded  love  there  is  a  balm,  they  say ; 

A  kiss  will  heal  the  hurt,  and  make  the  healing 
So  sweet  that  some  another  wound  will  pray, 

To  have  the  ecstasies  of  that  same  feeling 
Once  more.     But  injure  once  a  woman's  pride, 
And,  tell  me,  what  can  make  her  wrath  subside  ? 


XXVIII. 

Marie  thus  made  two  bitter  enemies — 
A  cold  and  calculating  maiden  crossed 

In  love,  or  hurt  in  pride — whiche'er  you  please; 
I  never  yet  have  found  the  two  divorced — 

And  an  old  dowager  in  high  society, 

Who  vowed  to  give  her  name  wide  notoriety. 


38  MARIE: 

XXIX. 

But  what  cared  she  ?     Her  thoughts  were  all  intent 
On  Percy,  whom  she  loved  with  first  sweet  love. 

He  was  the  sole  star  in  her  firmament ; 

For  though  midst  many  others  she  might  move, 

He  shone  with  such  effulgence  to  her  sight 

That,  like  the  sun,  he  robbed  them  of  their  light. 

XXX. 

And  now  the  two  are  once  again  together, 
Yet  this  time  not  within  the  crowded  hall, 

But  walking  by  the  dusky  ocean,  whither 
They  wandered  to  escape  the  heated  ball ; 

And  she  was  leaning  on  his  arm,  while  he 

Seemed  wrapt  in  the  profoundest  revery. 

XXXI. 

The  moon  was  up,  and  a  broad  path  of  light 
She  wove  upon  the  waters.     The  deep  sky 

Was  studded  with  great  stars  intensely  bright, 
A  revelation  of  infinity. 

'Twas  after  midnight,  and  so  still,  it  seemed 

As  if  with  them  the  whole  creation  dreamed. 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE.  39 

XXXII. 

She  wore  a  bunch  of  violets  on  her  breast, 

And  one  of  these  she  took  between  her  fingers, 

And  bending  downward  tenderly  caressed 

The  faded  flower,  like  one  who  fondly  lingers 

Upon  the  lips  of  love — her  looks  meanwhile 

Were  bent  on  Percy  with  a  witching  smile. 


XXXIII. 

Then  he  the  silence  for  the  first  time  broke 

With  ardent  words :  "  I  would  I  were  that  flower !" 

She  in  a  gentle  whisper  answering  spoke, 
"  I'd  turn  you  into  one  had  I  the  power ;" 

And  bending  toward  the  violet  again, 

Her  kisses  fell  upon  it  like  soft  rain. 


MARIE: 

XXXIV. 

"  Marie,  Marie,  I  love  you  !  "  Percy  cried. 

She  raised  to  his  a  radiant,  happy  face ; 
"  And  I  love  you,  my  darling,"  she  replied, 

Returning  tenderly  his  fond  embrace. 
Above,  the  tranquil  moon  all  smiling  shone, 
A  very  proper,  kind  old  chaperone. 


XXXV. 

They  lingered  thus  together,  never  thinking 
How  quickly  Time  flies  on  the  wings  of  Love ; 

Nor  noticed  they  how  low  the  moon  was  sinking ; 
Nor  did  they  care  that  some  might  disapprove 

Such  lawless  conduct :  on  that  heavenly  night 

They  gave  their  hearts  up  wholly  to  delight. 

XXXVI. 

Perhaps  'twas  after  one  o'clock  when  they 

Were  rudely  interrupted  by  a  cough, 
And  that  not  half-a-dozen  yards  away. 

They  quickly  turned  their  heads.     It  was  enough  ! 
There  stood  Miss  Lily  and  Miss  Lily's  mother, 
Gazing  at  them  and  then  at  one  another. 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE.  45 

XXXVII. 

The  reason  of  their  strange  appearance  there 
Is  something  quite  beyond  my  comprehension. 

Was  it  to  breathe  the  vivifying  air? 
Or  had  they  a  more  sinister  intention? 

Embarrassed  Percy  gazed  upon  the  sand  ; 

Surprised  Marie  all  unabashed  did  stand. 

XXXVIII. 

"  Pardon  us  our  intrusion  !"  said  Miss  Lily, 

In  cold,  sarcastic  tones.     Then  with  her  mother 
She  turned  upon  the  pair  a  shoulder  chilly 

And  walked  away.     Marie  could  scarcely  smother 
A  quick  reply,  but  yet  spoke  not  a  word. 
The  whole  affair  was  awkward  and  absurd. 

xxxix. 

The  morning  following,  when  she  appeared 

Among  the  girls,  she  was  received  quite  coldly. 

They  whispered,  looked  askance  at  her,  and  sneered  ; 
While  one  or  two  gazed  in  her  count'nance  boldly, 

And  when  she  bowed,  they  gave  no  indication 

Of  noticing  her  well-meant  salutation. 


46 


MARIE: 


XL. 

"  They  none  of  them  have  loved,"  she  fondly  thought, 

"Or  certainly  they  could  not  blame  my  action." 
But  her  chagrin  soon  passed.     Her  heart  was  fraught 

With  grief  that  drove  her  almost  to  distraction ; 
For  Percy  on  that  afternoon  must  go, 
And  when  again  they'd  meet  she  did  not  know. 


XLI. 

I  will  not  harrow  up  your  sympathies 
With  a  description  of  their  sad  farewell, 

Their  vows,  their  words  of  love,  their  agonies ; 
But  with  a  view  to  art  will  ring  the  bell, 

To  drop  upon  this  second  act  the  curtain, 

Leaving  my  story's  denouement  uncertain. 


A    SEASIDE   EPISODE. 


Poor  desolate  Marie  !  day  after  day, 

Since  Percy  left  the  seashore  for  the  city, 

She  wandered  in  a  solitary  way, 

An  object  to  excite  the  deepest  pity ; 

And  sometimes  to  her  eyes  the  tears  would  start, 

So  sorrowful  and  lonely  was  her  heart. 


II. 

Weeks  passed,  aind  yet  her  grief  had  not  abated ; 

Her  nature  was  of  that  rare,  constant  kind, 
Which  cannot  in  a  few  short  weeks  be  sated, 

As  many  have  that  I  can  call  to  mind  ; 
Yet  all  this  time,  it  is  but  just  to  mention, 
Miss  Lily's  friend  was  paying  her  attention. 


MARIE: 

III. 

I  say,  in  praise  of  her,  that  she  resisted 

For  many  weeks  the  ardent  demonstrations 

In  which  he  pertinaciously  persisted  ; 

And  even  when,  with  fervid  protestations, 

He  told  the  burning  secret  of  his  heart, 

She  resolutely  waved  him  to  depart. 


IV. 

But  who  could  see  the  bitter  tears  he  shed, 

And  not  be  touched  with  sympathetic  feeling? 

Once  she  relented,  turned  a  pretty  red, 

And  bending  o'er  his  form  beside  her  kneeling, 

She  stammered  that,  although  she  could  not  love  him, 

She'd  gladly  make  a  friend  platonic  of  him. 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE.  55 


V. 

Did  ever  yet  a  belle  refuse  a  man 

And  let  him  from  her  side  depart  forever, 

Without  proposing  a  pl^tonic  plan 

Of  sweet  communion  for  the  future?     Never! 

Her  lover  once,  a  friend  you  must  remain, 

And  love  her  still,  although  you  love  in  vain. 


VI. 

Of  course,  this  feeling  I  will  not  impute 
To  one  so  free  from  guile  as  young  Marie 

(In  reading  female  hearts  I'm  not  astute); 
She  innocently  planned,  it  seems  to  me, 

A  friendship  of  the  transcendental  kind  ; 

Not  of  the  heart,  but  solely  of  the  mind. 


50  MARIE: 

VII. 

Each  made  the  other's  heart  a  vestal  urn, 
In  which  was  lighted  a  platonic  flame — 

A  melting  fire,  but  one  that  does  not  burn, 
As  you  may  prove,  if  you  but  try  the  same. 

Choose  you  a  woman,  homely,  good,  and  stupid, 

Then  set  your  mind  at  rest  concerning  Cupid. 


VIII. 

They  walked,  they  talked,  they  danced  with  one  another, 

All  in  a  sympathetic  sort  of  way, 
As  might  a  guileless  maiden  and  her  brother ; 

For  not  a  word  of  love  did  either  say : 
A  beautiful  relationship  of  sexes, 
Which,  I  confess,  my  comprehension  vexes ! 

IX. 

It  strikes  me  that  so  far  our  heroine 

Has  proved  quite  faithful  to  her  absent  lover. 

I  wish  that  I  could  stop  with  this  last  line, 
And  leave  you  with  a  fine  impression  of  her. 

But  yes !     I  see  you  wish  to  know  how  ended 

Her  friendship  with  this  man  she  had  befriended. 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE.  $? 

X. 

You  have  observed  that  Nature  works  by  laws 
(I  wish  she  worked  according  to  my  views), 

And  one  we  designate  "  effect  and  cause  ;" 
But  I,  who  am  not  in  the  least  abstruse 

In  my  nomenclature,  for  your  utility 

Will  rebaptize  this  law  to  "  mutability." 


XL 

Gaze  at  the  clouds  and  see  their  changing  shapes, 
Chased  by  the  wind  or  melted  by  the  sun, 

Now  stretching  like  a  continent,  with  capes 
And  long  peninsulas,  and  now  they  run 

All  scattered  like  a  flock  of  snow-white  sheep, 

According  to  this  natural  law  they  keep. 


XII. 

The  mountains  crumble,  kingdoms  pass  away ; 

Proud  cities  stand  upon  the  wrecks  of  prouder ; 
The  pyramids  which  pierce  the  sky  to-day 

Will  in  some  thousand  years  be  ground  to  powder. 
Nothing  escapes  this  law,  not  even  Fashion  ; 
Then  why  expect  stability  in  passion  ? 


58  MARIE: 

XIII. 

Yes!  even  Love  can  change.     I've  loved  myself 
Some  twenty  times,  and  every  time  a  "  fancy." 

It  seems  that  Cupid,  wanton  little  elf ! 

Takes  pleasure  in  this  sort  of  necromancy. 

He  pricks  us  gently  with  his  magic  darts, 

And  we  imagine  they  have  pierced  our  hearts. 


XIV. 

And  lo  !  we  fall  into  imagined  blisses ; 

Sigh,  and  imagine  that  we  love  profoundly; 
In  short,  imagine  all  things  but  the  kisses ; 

For  these  we  give  substantially  and  roundly. 
We  next  discover  we  love  not  a  particle, 
But  have  been  cheated  by  a  "  spurious  article." 


A    SEASIDE   EPISODE.  6 1 


XV. 

As  day  by  day  passed  by,  our  heroine 

Grew  gradually  more  and  more  vivacious. 

For  Percy's  absence  she  soon  ceased  to  pine, 
Her  friend  platonic  had  proved  efficacious 

In  dissipating  all  her  melancholy. 

She  now  began  to  think  her  love  a  folly. 

XVI. 

Philip  was  not  a  man  of  Percy's  mould, 

Whom  nature  had  endowed  with  matchless  graces ; 
But  then  he  had  in  lieu  of  beauty,  gold ; 


And  women  are  not  won  by  handsome  faces; 
A  fact  apparent,  for  they  daily  marry 
Plain  Tom,  repulsive  Dick,  and  ugly  Harry. 


62  MARIE: 

XVII. 
Besides,  he  occupied  a  lofty  pinnacle 

In  the  resplendent  fabric  of  society; 
A  hero  with  the  fashionably  finical 

Who  worship  Mammon  with  the  purest  piety. 
You  know  quite  well  how  all  of  us  are  prone 
To  take  the  world's  opinion  for  our  own. 

XVIII. 

So,  as  he  was  by  all  caressed  and  flattered, 

Praised  for  his  virtues,  for  his  faults  condoned, 

To  Marie's  guileless  mind  it  little  mattered 
That  in  her  heart  Philip  was  not  enthroned. 

Thus,  by  regarding  him  through  others'  eyes, 

She  wished  to  be  possessed  of  this  great  prize. 


XIX. 

The  way  before  me  now  is  so  obscure, 

So  full  of  pitfalls  and  of  dangerous  places, 

'Twere  wise  to  make  my  journey's  end  secure 
By  leaving  Pegasus  to  his  own  paces ; 

So  here  upon  his  neck  the  reins  I'll  lay, 

Quite  sure  he'll  amble  home  the  safest  way. 


A    SEASIDE   EPISODE.  65 


'Twas  on  a  certain  date,  an  August 'night  ; 

The  moon  was  full  and  near  the  middle  sky; 
And  yet  her  aspect  seemed  not  over-bright, 

For  fleece-like  clouds  went  scudding  swiftly  by, 
Through  which   she  sometimes  glared  and  sometimes 

frowned, 
As  though  she  saw  some  evil  on  the  ground. 

I 

XXI. 

The  place,  a  grove  of  pines,  a  quiet  spot, 

With  soft,  broad,  winding  paths  beneath  its  roof ; 

The  time — well,  that  I  really  have  forgot  ! 
Say  nine  o'clock,  'twill  answer  well  enough  ; 

For  what  I  would  be  at  in  all  this  talking, 

Is  that  beneath  these  pines  our  friends  were  walking. 

XXII. 

She  hung  on  Philip's  arm  confidingly ; 

By  which  I  mean  she  clung  quite  closely  to  it ; 
Not  just  the  proper  thing,  it  seems  to  me; 

But  unsophisticated  girls  will  do  it, 
Unconsciously,  of  course — quite  unaware 
In  their  abstraction  that  the  arm  is  there. 


66  MARIE: 


XXIII. 

She  hung  on  Philip's  arm,  as  I  have  said, 

Conversing  in  a  liquid  undertone, 
While  ever  and  anon  she  raised  her  head 

And  fixed  her  beaming  eyes  upon  his  own. 
How  beautiful  they  were !  and  what  was  more, 
How  full  of  light  he  ne'er  had  seen  before ! 

XXIV. 

"  Philip,"  she  said,  "  how  heavenly  a  boon 

Is  friendship  such  as  ours,  and  yet  how  rare !" 

But  Philip,  who  was  gazing  at  the  moon, 

Which  seemed  to  have  an  eye  upon  this  pair, 

Was  so  absorbed  in  lunar  reveries, 

To  call  him  back  she  gave  his  arm  a  squeeze. 

XXV. 

'Twas  but  a  squeeze,  a  gentle,  timid  squeeze, 
That  in  a  modest  manner  seemed  to  say, 

"  I'm  walking  by  your  side,  sir,  if  you  please  ; 
Tis  rude  to  let  your  fancies  from  me  stray." 

But  this,  of  course,  he  did  not  understand, 

For  in  a  moment  more  he  seized  her  hand. 


A    SEASIDE    EPISODE.  69 

XXVI. 

There's  something  in  a  soft,  warm,  velvet  hand, 
So  sympathetic,  tender,  and  caressing, — 

Though  I  must  give  you  here  to  understand 
That  in  such  matters  I  am  merely  guessing, — 

That,  though  your  nature  were  as  cold  as  snow, 

Your  veins  must  feel  a  little  tingling  glow. 


XXVII. 

There's  something  in  a  dark,  appealing  eye ; 

There's  something  in  the  tenderness  of  smiles; 
There's  something  in  a  gentle,  yearning  sigh, 

That  even  a  platonic  friend  beguiles. 
Just  add  sweet  blushes  on  a  lovely  face, 
And  should  you  be  the  man — God  give  you  grace! 


XXVIII. 

If  Philip  put  his  arm  around  her  waist 

And  poured  forth  burning  words  excitedly ; 

If  she  agreed  to  all  he  said  in  haste, 
And  sunk  upon  his  breast  delightedly, 

It  happened  through  her  little  hand,  her  eye, 

Her  smile,  her  blush,  her  gentle,  yearning  sigh. 


70  MARIE: 

XXIX. 

The  moon  meantime  was  ominously  blinking 
Behind  a  rifted  cloud.     'Twas  evident 

This  sort  of  thing  was  not  quite  to  her  thinking, 
For  at  this  moment  she  with  fierceness  rent 

The  sombre  veil  before  her  face  in  two, 

And  with  a  disapproving  glare  looked  through. 

XXX. 

It  chanced  they  then  were  standing  in  a  glade, 
Which  suddenly  became  as  light  as  day, 

When,  lo !  Marie,  whose  head  was  gently  laid 
Upon  her  lover's  shoulder,  broke  away 

From  his  embrace,  crying  in  terror,  "  Mercy!" 

For  right  before  her  stood  the  ghost  of  Percy. 

XXXI. 

She  gazed  upon  the  startling  apparition, 
Transfixed  and  petrified  by  fear  and  horror, 

As  Lot's  wife,  in  the  Biblical  tradition, 

Stood  looking  back  on  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  ; 

But  when  the  phantom  bowed  and  seemed  acquainted. 

Her  senses  swam,  she  very  nearly  fainted. 


A    SEASIDE   EPISODE. 

XXXII. 

I  would  not  have  you  think  her  superstitious, 
Or  that  her  conscience  was  not  wholly  clear, 

As  sometimes  is  the  case  with  persons  vicious. 
The  vision  made  her  tremble  with  strange  fear ; 

But  when  it  stalked  away  and  she  could  hear  it, 

She  knew  as  well  as  you,  'twas  not  a  spirit. 


73 


^  .^ 


XXXIII. 


"  Come  home  !"  she  whispered,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

Her  lover  did  not  move  from  where  he  stood  ; 
The  maiden's  cry  of  terror,  and  the  noise 

Of  steps  retreating  through  the  gloomy  wood,   - 
Had  filled  him  with  the  most  unmanly  fears. 
Augmented  when  the  girl  burst  into  tears. 


74  MARIE: 

XXXIV. 

And  here  I'll  leave  them  to  interpolate 

A  very  necessary  explanation, 
To  show  you  how  an  unpropitious  fate 

Had  brought  about  this  painful  situation  ; 
For  certainly  you  must  have  guessed  aright, 
'Twas  Percy  she  had  seen,  and  net  his  sprite. 

XXXV. 

You  wonder  at  the  seeming  strange  neglect 
Marie  had  found  in  such  an  ardent  lover, 

And  ask  what  more  young  Percy  could  expect, 
Than  at  his  tardy  coming  to  discover 

A  rival  for  her  hand  in  full  possession. 

It  certainly  was  not  Marie's  transgression. 

XXXVI. 

She  wrote  at  first  a  letter  every  day, 
To  which  her  lover  ardently  replied  ; 

Then  once  a  week  in  an  indifferent  way, 

Just  out  of  fun,  you  know,  to  pique  his  pride. 

At  first  he  fretted,  then  became  offended, 

Until  at  last  their  correspondence  ended. 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE.  77 

XXXVII. 

Some  say  that  "  absence  makes  the  heart  grow  fonder." 

Perhaps  it  does ;  I  never  will  deny  it, 
Although  I  would  advise  all  men  to  ponder 

Some  time  before  they  undertake  to  try  it. 
There  is  an  adage:  "  When  the  cat's  away," 
For  any  length  of  time,  "  the  mice  will  play." 


XXXVIII. 

Alas  for  Percy !     Though  he  kept  away 

For  many  weeks,  he  could  not  kill  his  love, 

Which  grew  to  such  a  longing,  day  by  day, 
To  see  her  face,  and  from  her  lips  to  prove 

The  truth  of  his  heart-torturing  alarms, 

He  came — to  find  her  in  another's  arms. 


XXXIX 

The  where  and  how  you  know.     Now,  having  spun 
Into  my  tale  this  short  interpolation, 

I'll  spread  my  sails  before  the  wind,  and  run 
Without  a  tack  unto  my  destination, 

Unloading  there  a  cargo  of  morality 

That  cannot  fail  to  please  you  by  its  quality. 


78  MARIE: 

XL. 

We'll  first  dispose  of  Percy.     On  the  morrow, 
After  a  night  that  verged  upon  insanity, 

He  made  a  dungeon  of  his  heart  for  sorrow, 
And  with  a  forced  demeanor  of  urbanity, 

He  took  the  first  train  going  to  the  city ; 

So  here  we  will  dismiss  him  with  our  pity. 

XLI. 

And  now,  our  heroine  !     She  passed  the  day 
Oppressed  with  feelings  of  remorse  and  shame; 

For  Percy  near  and  Percy  far  away, 

She  could  not  reason  why,  seemed  not  the  same. 

At  first  she  feared  she  ne'er  could  live  without  him, 

And  then  resolved  to  think  no  more  about  him. 


XLII. 

"  Tis  for  the  best,"  she  thought ;  and  those  who  hold, 

As  she  did,  that  a  loveless  life  is  best ; 
That  high  position,  vanity,  and  gold, 

Will  render  their  possessor  richly  blest, 
May  study  how  her  life  exemplified  it, 
For,  living  for  the  world,  Marie  has  tried  it. 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE.  8 1 


XLIII. 

The  summer  passed  away,  and  in  the  fall 
She  married  Philip,  and  a  sweeter  bride 

Had  ne'er  been  seen,  it  was  agreed  by  all; 
So  full  of  youthful  loveliness  and  pride ! 

The  wedding  was  a  very  swell  affair ; 

My  wealthy  cousin  Isabel  was  there. 

XLIV. 

And  ever  afterwards  they've  lived  in  peace, 

And  ne'er  are  known  to  have  domestic  quarrels. 

He  lives  his  life,  enjoying  at  his  ease 

His  friends,  his  club,  a  drive  behind  his  sorrels ; 


While  she  lives  hers  according  to  her  way, 
And  is,  the  gossips  hint,  a  trifle  gay. 


82  MARIE: 


XLV. 

She  keeps  her  horses,  too,  and  livery, 

And  in  her  T  cart  every  afternoon 
Is  driven  by  some  gentleman.     To  be 

Invited  by  her  is  a  special  boon. 
She  always  makes  her  drive  through  Central  Park, 
Returning  just  a  trifle  after  dark. 


XLVI. 

'Tis  said,  sometimes  a  melancholy  man 
Is  seen  to  pass  her  on  the  Avenue, 

He  on  the  sidewalk,  she  behind  her  span  ; 

And  if  a  glance  should  pass  between  the  two, 

Although  she  has  before  been  bright  and  gay, 

She  sinks  back  in  her  seat  and  seems  "distrait." 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE.  8$ 

XLVII. 

The  dresses  that  she  wears  must  cost  a  mint, 

And  satisfy  the  pride  of  any  lady. 
She  gratifies  her  follies  without  stint, 

But  always  keeps  aloof  from  doings  shady; 
So  Slander  finds  no  place  to  drive  a  nail 
On  which  to  hang  a  spicy,  naughty  tale. 

XL  VIII. 
She  has  her  box  at  every  opera, 

She's  one  of  the  subscribers  of  the  season, 
And  here  she  may  be  seen  with  her  mamma, 

Who  always  goes  along,  for  this  good  reason- — 
She  does  not  think  it  looks  exactly  right 
For  ladies  to  be  seen  alone  at  night. 


86  MARIE: 

XLIX. 
Besides,  her  box  is  always  visited 

By  scores  of  men,  both  bachelors  and  married ; 
And,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  I've  heard  it  said 

The  latter  are  the  ones  who  longest  tarried. 
Of  course  she  can't  receive  these  men  alone, 
Therefore  her  mother  goes  as  chaperone. 


L. 

She's  recognized  as  one  of  Fashion's  beauties ; 

Her  life  is  one  long  round  of  varied  pleasure ; 
She's  unencumbered  with  domestic  duties, 

And  this  world's  goods  has  in  abundant  measure ; 
All  which  considerations  go  to  prove 
'Tis  wiser  far  to  wed  for  gold  than  love. 


LI. 

Love  is  a  fleeting,  rosy  cloud  that  stains 
The  heaven  of  our  youth.  It  passes  soon, 

Or  else  condenses  and  descends  in  rains 

Of  sorrow  on  our  heads.  In  life's  high  noon 

Its  vapors  all  have  melted  in  the  skies, 

And  Mammon  claims  our  fears,  our  hopes,  our  sighs. 


A    SEASIDE  EPISODE.  89 

LII. 

"  Put  money  in  thy  purse !"  and  nothing  fear 
Thereafter.     All  the  world  belongs  to  him 
Who  has  the  price  to  buy.     Whate'er  is  dear 

To  human  hearts,  from  a  mere  childish  whim 
To  pleasure,  reputation,  and  ambition, 
Will  find  in  money  means  to  reach  fruition. 

LIII. 

It  is  the  "  Open  Sesame !"  to  halls 

Of  luxury  and  lands  Elysian  ; 
The  ladder  by  which  parvenus  the  walls 

Of  Fashion  scale  ;  the  mighty  talisman 
Which  charms  young  Love  to  wait  on  palsied  Age — 
The  word  "  Success"  inscribed  upon  life's  page. 

LIV. 

To  us  who  have  the  entree  to  the  best 

Society,  money  is  most  essential. 
A  half  a  million  out  at  interest 

Gives  one  an  air  a  trifle  consequential ; 
But  when  you  count  your  millions,  eight  or  ten, 
You  are  a  God  among  your  fellow-men. 


CO 


MA1UE:    A    SEASIDE   EPISODE. 


LV. 

Make  money  then  the  object  of  your  lives ; 

A  taste  of  Paradise  on  earth  'twill  give  you. 
Good  luck  to  men  who  search  for  wealthy  wives ! 

And  maids  who  seek  for  wealthy  mates,  God  thrive 

you  ' 

Gold  rules  the  world ;  and  though  some  poets  mock  it, 
It  makes  a  merry  jingle  in  the  pocket. 


*s? 

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